


A Champion's Origin

by mollymaukerie



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Some violence but not super graphic, critical role + dragon age au, more tags as chapters are posted!, other characters will be tagged with proper chapter appearances, trouble has a way of finding them, vax and vex are both half-elves, vax is an antivan 'raven' and vex is a bit of an explorer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 04:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16905933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymaukerie/pseuds/mollymaukerie
Summary: A Critical Role + Dragon Age AU.Vax'ildan has returned to his home in Denerim after a job with the Antivan Ravens but has found himself caught up in more trouble than he was expecting. Chance and fate have conspired against him it seems and who knows what lies ahead for him.





	A Champion's Origin

It had been months since Vax’ildan had seen the harbour of Denerim, even if it was clad in the dark shadows of midnight. The scent of saltwater had seeped into his cloak from his time sat huddled down in the shoddy dinghy that was jostled to and fro with every wave that lapped its side.

How long had it been since he’d been home? Two months? Three? It was a mess of a city, a cesspool of corrupt nobles, obnoxious merchants, and pickpockets that gave criminals like him a bad name. In spite of that, it was where his home was. Not the little shack in the alienage he had had to fight near tooth and nail for, no. For Vex’ahlia, his twin sister and one of two people he could stand to be in the company of in Denerim. Three, if one counts the overgrown mabari that had claimed Vex’ahlia as a mother when it was a pup, and he always did.

His little assignment, at least, had not gone awry. He had managed to escape Amaranthine in one piece and made it to the rendezvous in time to get his ticket home. Robbing nobles blind and framing them for all sorts of illicit activities was fun, but it had taken too long. The travel there, the infiltration, the scouting, waiting for that fancy little soiree his mark had hosted to give him the opportunity to slip in and out before the guard tip-off…

At least the journey home was quiet. His guide spoke not one word to him – a simple fisherman paid handsomely to keep his head down and escort him along the coast into the harbour. Vax’ildan knew better than to make idle chit-chat with him. If by chance he was intercepted by a guard later, he at least wouldn’t be able to identify him by his voice. The mask he wore under the hood of his cloak kept his face obscured, leaving nothing else to tip off who he was.

The ships anchored in the harbour creaked and groaned as the fisherman steered the rowboat towards the docks. Somewhere, the sound of sailors laughing and jeering echoed through the night, familiar and yet unknown at once. Once the fisherman had pulled the rowboat alongside the dock, Vax’ildan gave his thanks in the form of a nonchalant wave and a nod, moving carefully to avoid capsizing the boat as he stood. After waiting for the guard patrol to move on and continue its route, he lifted himself in one swift motion and darted into the nearest alleyway.

He wasn’t far from the alienage, thank the Maker. He knew the alleyways like the back of his hand, and he made his way through with ease, slowly peeling back the uniform that marked him as one of the Antivan Ravens, thieves and assassins to be hunted for bounties, if not for sport. The mask he turned into a scarf and the hood he peeled back to feel the cool night breeze kiss the back of his neck. He could stash the mask safely and out of sight when he got home. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the shout and call of guards, organising in the night. What for, he didn’t know, and didn’t care to know. They carried out raids often throughout the less affluent districts, it was nothing extraordinary.

Soon enough, he had passed the district border and slipped into the alienage unseen. The thick boughs of the alienage’s Vhenadahl stretched over the ramshackle abodes, branches carved with old Elven iconography, or rather the memory of it. He didn’t have the same connection to his heritage that Vex’ahlia did. She cherished it, sought it out frequently. But h Born between people, between worlds even, he was untethered to all but the select few he called family.

His home was far from a hovel. The work he did for the Antivan Ravens meant he could afford some measure of upkeep, enough to keep the roof from leaking and the wind from slipping through every crack. Even so, it was small, though it wasn’t as if they needed much room. The curtains within were drawn, but he could see the faintest flicker of candlelight within as he approached.

It felt strange sometimes to hold a key in his palm when he was so used to the weight of a lockpick instead but it was still comforting to know he was home at least after so long away.

At least, it was, until he opened the door and saw a figure across the way raise up from a crouch. Turning with a bow in hand, an arrow sat snug against the frame as it was knocked and strung back. Nearby, he could hear the familiar bark and growl of a mabari. Instinct had him leaning closer to the door for cover until he saw that familiar flicker of a blue feather, his sister’s favourite accessory.

“Vex! It’s me,” he said quickly, his throat closing up as he watched Vex’ahlia’s arm tense, the arrow yet to loose.

A tense moment passed before Vex’ahlia relaxed the bowstring, placing it down carefully as a wide smile claimed her lips. “Vax, you’re back!” she breathed out, placing her bow down as she darted across the short space between them to embrace her brother.

Her arms came up to encircle his shoulders, and as he curled his arms around her to return the hug, he peered over her shoulder. His gaze caught on the lifted tile by the hearth and the satchel beside it.

Vex’ahlia had either been dipping into their stash or adding to it. Which wasn’t unusual, if it had not been for the way she reacted when he entered.

“I know I’ve been gone a while Stubby but that was a little harsh, don’t you think?” Vax’ildan teased as he patted her back, a smile tugging at his lips when he heard Vex’ahlia laugh. Nudging his hip, he spared a glance down and saw Trinket, her mabari, whining softly and seemingly upset he had not been greeted first.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, waving a hand as she exhaled deeply. “There’s…there’s been some trouble in the alienage lately, and I didn’t think you’d be back so soon–”

“–what kind of trouble?” Vax asked her quickly, worry sinking into his heart. If something had happened while he was away, he’d have never forgiven himself.

“Well, not trouble per say, but–” as she began to explain, Vax’ildan heard a shout echo through the alienage, accompanied by the distant sound of metal scraping and clinking together. Guards. As soon as he heard it, Vex’ahlia reached past him and closed the door swiftly but quietly. “Nothing to fret over, at least.”

“Vex,” Vax’ildan said, drawing out the word as he watched her step away.

“I told you, it’s not a problem, nothing that can’t be solved quickly,” she explained calmly, though Vax’ildan could hear the underlying tension in her words. She kneeled back down at the hearth, her hand dipping into the hidden compartment and taking out coin-purse after coin-purse.

“That so?” he asked, moving quickly to the window. He peeled back the edge of the curtain, peering out into the night. He could see the glimmer of torchlight on armour in the dark; a company of guards strolling into the alienage and waking the inhabitants, drawing them into the street. “I’m starting to think you weren’t expecting your darling brother home safe and sound.”

Vex’ahlia opened her mouth to speak, but when she saw him at the window, she quickly joined him there, leaning against the wall and being careful not to move the curtain open further than Vax’ildan had. The guards were calling forth the denizens of the alienage. They couldn’t hear what was being said at a distance, but it took only one guess to figure out what they wanted, what with Vex’ahlia’s nervousness and her evasiveness.

The only thing that troubled him was the amount of guards out there. In the dead of night, there must have been a dozen or more, all of them stomping under the Vhenadahl tree and kicking in the doors of the nearest abode. It was an unusually strong show of force, which could mean either one of two things. Either the local patrols wanted to enjoy a bit of midnight brutality, or someone, somewhere, was furious.

While he was certain no one would point out their home right away, when push comes to shove, they all had families and lives of their own. They didn’t exactly advertise themselves as criminals, but they were known to handle the grim bit of business around the alienage when someone needed some protection. The guards were no stranger to spilling a little blood in the elven quarter, and Vax’ildan wouldn’t begrudge anyone out there trying to protect themselves.

“What happened?” Vax’ildan asked as he moved away from the window. He reached for one of the chairs at their meagre dining table, dragging it across the way and jamming it under the handle of the front door.

“It’s– it’s complicated,” she said. When Vax’ildan ushered her to start from the beginning, she took a deep breath and began to gather her things once more. “I was hunting in the Brecilian Forest a few weeks ago when I met a Dalish woman, Keyleth, she–”

“–Take a breath,” he said, moving around their home and helping her round up clothes and supplies. Trinket moved between them, bumping their legs, but he would drag over satchels and coats for Vax to shove into a pack while Vex’ahlia continued to empty their stash.

After a long, shaking breath, Vex’ahlia spoke again.

“She was examining a ruin of sorts, of the people. I saw her a few times, actually, helped her gather some materials and–”

“–Vex, short version now, details later!”

“Look– a few days ago…I was helping her at the site when some…idiotic, mouth-breathing mercenaries stormed the ruin and tried to take her research. I helped her fight them off and– and a few of them died, sure, I helped her get away, everything was fine! But then I saw a few of them as the market was closing and–” she rambled, tripping over her own words at times as she tried to recount what was important in the now. “–I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I didn’t want to take chances, I was going to get our stash and go to that place we scouted out by Redcliffe and wait for you there until I…dealt with them, or you came back, I don’t know.”

“Well…I’m back now. I’m here, and you and I, we’ll sort this. Together,” Vax’ildan said, catching her by the arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. It was a long way from decent comfort, but in the moment, it was enough to calm her nerves. He let his hand linger a moment before returning to the window to check on the guards. They were beginning to pull people from their homes and were starting to get closer to the part of the alienage they lived in.

“We should go,” Vex’ahlia said, and when Vax’ildan turned she was already pulling a cloak around her shoulders and strapping her quiver to her hip. Ever prepared. It brought a brief smile to his face despite it all, and he nodded, following her outside into the little garden behind their home where Trinket would rip up their vegetables when he was sent outside.

They hopped the fence and pulled the slats aside to allow Trinket to slip through. Vex’ahlia took a moment to kneel, scratching him behind the ears and ushering him to be quiet and to stay close. Outside now, they could hear the shouting of the guards; loud and frustrated – clearly unhappy with their lack of progress in the search. Whether or not they were there by intent or chance didn’t matter to Vax’ildan in that moment. It was coincidence enough and that was reason enough to leave.

“We should get supplies in one of the villages on the way to the shack,” Vax’ildan whispered to her as they darted through the alleyways, keeping their heads low and pausing at streets to ensure no one was out on an evening stroll.

“That…might not be a problem actually,” Vex’ahlia replied, her words hesitant. She moved to step passed him into the street when Vax’ildan caught her arm, stopping her and fixing her with a confused expression drawing on his face.

“Pardon?” he asked. He could see Vex’ahlia biting her lip under the moonlight. He breathed out a heavy sigh. “Vex…”

“I told Keyleth she could stay there,” she said hastily, her brows furrowing. “I trust her. It’s safer there and she needed somewhere to go, she was injured, and I’m not going to argue about it.”

“Right, Keyleth, the Dalish, the one who got you into this mess,” he said with a huff. “And how can you be so certain she wasn’t followed there.”

“She’s a mage. She can handle herself,” Vex’ahlia said swiftly, stepping away to check the street and ducking out ahead of Vax’ildan.

Alone there for a moment, he looked down to Trinket who trotted after Vex’ahlia, and let out a quiet groan.

“Nothing’s ever simple…”

He chased after his sister, keeping close under the overhang of buildings and relying on the shadows they provided, lest someone open a window and spot him. Vex’ahlia waited for him at the next corner, and they proceeded together, moving through the back streets of the alienage. It was a denser area of the alienage, a slum in the true sense of the word. Homes stacked on homes, with paper thin walls and rooftops barely covered with tiles and thatch. There was a reason the alienage was walled off from the other districts of Denerim. A fire here wouldn’t spread, and no one else would be affected by or be involved in the aftermath. Out of sight and out of mind as the noble folk intended.

At night though, the people that far into the alienage were more unlikely to cooperate with the local patrols. That suited them well enough, but they had another problem. There were dead ends at every turn, meaning there were few safe places to turn to when they saw torchlight, advancing and flickering, against the walls of a street corner ahead. They slowed to a crawl, pulled their hoods down lower, and hoped that they could get by without an issue.

For the moment, it worked. The night was cloudy, moonless, and there was little that brought the eye to them at a distance. The patrol was continuing along the main street, passing them by. At least until the sound of wood clattering behind them. They turned with a start and saw Trinket, frozen stiff with an old and dusty bone in his mouth and a half dozen wooden slats bouncing around after having been knocked down. He must have tried to pull it out, and in doing so, knocked over a stack used for repairing nearby buildings.

“Trinket…” Vex’ahlia murmured her scolding but when Trinket let out a pitiful, almost apologetic whine, she couldn’t follow through with her reprimand.

“Oi, you there!”

No turning back.

“Steady on now,” Vax’ildan whispered as the guards lifted the torch, casting light into the street as they moved towards them, hands moving to the hilt of sheathed longswords. “Work your magic.”

“What are you doing out at this hour?” one of the guards asked.

And on que, Vex’ahlia’s demeanour changed from on-edge and fretful to coy and demure.

“We’re trying to find our family,” she began, her voice suddenly carrying a strange lilt. “We’re from the Free Marches, Ostwick. Our aunt, she– she’s passed, we’re here to care for her children.” A softer, sweeter accent clung to her words, mournful and choking with false tears. Vax’ildan resisted the urge to smirk.

Her natural talent for lying was nothing to raise one’s nose at – it had gardened attention from the Antivan Ravens, certainly, but Vax’ildan knew Vex’ahlia wasn’t made for the dirty work of murder. Well. Professional murder, at least. She had seen her fair share of fights and could take care of herself. Hell, she’d taught him a thing or two over the years. At heart, she was wild and adventurous, and he would do anything to safeguard her freedom.

The guards baulked initially, unsure how to handle the woman before them that seemed so exhausted and so rattled. Vax’ildan came to her side, rubbing her arm gently to see her act through, and Vex’ahlia ducked her head, eyes glassy with whatever tears she could muster. After a moment of nervous shuffling and awkward looks, the guards ushered them both along, simply telling them to get off the streets quickly at such a late hour.

Pretending to console his sister, Vax’ildan ushered her along as the soft sound of a whimper escaped her throat. He called Trinket to his heel, who followed dutifully after his mishap with his short tail flattened much like his ears. They made it a few steps, and then a few more, and then the street corner was within reach. The guards made no move to step aside ahead of them, and so they had to sidestep them, doing their best to keep their heads low and murmuring passive thank-you’s that sickened them deep down, but the ruse couldn’t be abandoned.

And for that one moment, it seemed as though they were in the clear until the sound of heavy, clanking footsteps came into the other end of the street. They knew better than to draw attention to themselves and prayed that they could close that distance to the corner before the other shoe dropped.

But that shoe fell like a ton of bricks. A voice called out through the night, loud enough to wake the entire street, howling at the guards ahead that they were on the search for fugitives. In that instant, the guards turned back to them. The illusion was shattered, and the last shards of glass were kicked out the moment a guard reached out and snatched up the edge of Vex’ahlia’s cloak.

Vax’ildan saw the shimmer of cold steel gleaming under torchlight as Vex’ahlia unsheathed a dagger from her hip. As the guard spun her, her hand came up and she sunk the blade deep into his shoulder, slipping through the plating to the soft area under his collarbone. He let out a harsh cry as Vex’ahlia kicked his legs, causing his knees to buckle and give out under him. Vax’ildan had only a moment to react, stepping around swiftly to grab hold of the other guard as they tried to draw the sword from their hip – but swords are long and slow to unsheathe. Vax’ildan drew his dagger a second faster, thrust forward a second faster. The blade sliced through the side of his wrist, forcing him to release the hilt of the blade before Vax’ildan switched his grip with a flourish, bringing the blade up to silence him with a swift cut to his throat.

One less to give chase and Vex’ahlia had made quick work of the other. The bodies fell to the street with a clatter, and the other guard down the street began to advance with earnest.

Subtlety abandoned, the chase began.

They turned, darting forward and around the corner, cherishing that brief moment where their aggressor might pause to check over the guards they had assailed. A precious moment, enough for them to get some distance. They dashed down side streets and alleyways, boots landing hard and hearts pounding in their chests, and somewhere behind them the shouts and calls of a rousing search party.

They came to a set of ramshackle houses, stacked one upon another, leaning against one of the inner-city walls. If they could scale it and get up over the wall, it was a sure-shot to the front gates and out of Denerim. As they began to climb, however, the soft whine of Trinket caused them both to stop dead.

They were partly off the ground when they looked back and saw Trinket pacing at the wall, whining and whimpering. He scratched the ground and the wall itself, clearly trying to make an attempt but having no means to follow them up.

“Fuck,” Vex’ahlia breathed out, turning to look at Vax’ildan. “I can’t– I can’t leave him,” she said, already climbing down to comfort Trinket and pat the thick fur at his neck.

The gears turned faster and faster in Vax’ildan’s mind, but he knew their options would be limited on foot. They wouldn’t be able to find somewhere to hide in the alienage before being discovered, and he had no doubt that the district would soon be on lockdown – meaning any exit through the gates would be impossible for them both.

But for Vex’ahlia alone? Discreetly, with her silver tongue?

“Alright, you hide,” he said, dropping down to squeeze her shoulder tightly with a hand. With the other, he pulled the bloodied dagger she had pulled from the guard’s chest out of her palm. She couldn’t afford to be caught with it. “You keep out of sight until morning, and then slip out as soon as the patrols at the gates get lighter.”

“What? Vax, no, what are you doing?” she asked, a worried tone carrying through her voice.

“Ah, you know me,” he replied, climbing up onto the rooftops and shucking his cloak. It would slow him down too much. “I’m good at making a scene.”

“Vax,” Vex’ahlia called to him, and on the rooftops, he turned to gaze down at her. Her mouth opened and closed once, twice, and then she swallowed hard. “Don’t you die.”

Vax’ildan could only smirk at her.

“Never,” he said, and with that, he walked away.

One step, then another, a third and a fourth, until he had built up a quick jog. It became a run, and then a sprint, and then he was racing over the rooftops, his boots tapping on wooden beams and dirty clay tiles. He leapt over them, sliding over tiles, causing a general commotion until finally he had circled back towards the search party of guards.

He caught sight of them kicking in doors and rousing residents, stomping through the streets like feral beasts. He took a breath and steadied his hands, his grip tight on Vex’ahlia’s dagger. He waited for one of the guards to step away from the others a little more, moving slower than the others. Out of breath, alert, but unaware of him.

The motion was quick. Practiced. Refined. His fingers turned the dagger over, the blade coming up between his fingers, the hilt heavy and out of his palm as he lifted his arm over his shoulder and sent it arcing through the sky. The sound of the blade slicing through the air was quiet and swift, and as the guard turned, gravity brought the dagger down and it sliced through the leather armour of the guard’s shoulder. A little off mark, far from a clean kill, but he couldn’t expect the guard to stay still now could he.

It had done the job though. The guard’s cry echoed through the night and those that had been harassing the groggy and frightened denizens of the alienage abandoned what they were doing, looking around frantically and at their comrade shrieking like a wounded boar. On the rooftop, Vax’ildan kicked at the clay tiles underfoot, causing them to shatter and slide from the rooftop and break on the ground below. It drew enough attention, as the guards were suddenly calling out his position on the rooftops.

He had one goal in all this; to lead them as far from Vex’ahlia’s position as possible.

So, he ran. He ran and he ran, bolting across rooftops, his lungs aching painfully as he emptied them of air with each breath he sucked in and expelled to keep going. The guards followed dutifully on foot, chasing him through the streets below and cursing when they ran into dead ends, forced to double back to the main road. A game of cat and mouse, but with twenty cats who had forgotten how to jump. It was unfair, really.

Chance could be equally cruel though.

As Vax’ildan crossed the rooftops, leaping ungracefully at times across larger gaps, one such leap sent him crashing to the ground. A misstep, one misstep, and his footing came away under him as he made his leap. The distance close enough, but his angle too low to clear it, and his gut slammed hard into the edge of a building as he fell. The wind was knocked out of him, and he resisted the urge to curl up in pain, his fingers latching onto any purchase he could find to keep himself from falling. Infrastructure in the alienage was poor at best, and shoddy at worst. The clay tiles he had gotten his fingers around shifted under his weight and snapped away, and gravity demanded he fall.

Hard-packed earth greeted him harshly as he heard the cracking of bone. He landed badly on his shoulder and his head hit the ground on impact. His time with the Antivan Raven’s had taught him not to cry out in pain, but he hissed out a painful cry through gritted teeth and rolled over, forcing himself back to his feet. He stumbled, falling against the wall of the alleyway as his vision doubled, a blur of white and black spots that he tried to shake away.

When he did, he was greeted with light – glaring and blazing orange light.

When the ringing in his ears subsided, he could hear voices too. A dozen voices melding into one command; yield.

Vax’ildan could see the silhouettes of the guards approaching, swords drawn, but keeping a distance even as they encircled him. They blocked both of his exits, and with arm hanging limp at his side, his hand shaking with the pain that coursed through the right side of his body, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to climb his way out of their reach before they got to him.

As a Raven, he’d been taught never to be taken alive. But he had a sister – one he’d sworn to protect and to be there for, always. He’d sworn never to abandon her.

So slowly, through pained effort, he extended his arms out at his sides, surrendering to them. A few guards came forward, warily, before they seized his arms and forced him to turn. He was shoved against the wall, and he bit down on his bottom lip to keep from shouting out in pain as his right arm was pulled back as a set of manacles were clamped around his wrists.

He was dragged out of the alleyway and into the street, and he knew he would be in a dungeon somewhere not before long. He had a number of lockpicks hidden on his person – as long as he wasn’t stripped to his smallclothes, he would be fine. Even then, it wasn’t impossible to fashion a lockpick or to swipe a set of keys from an unsuspecting guard. He’d done it before. He could wait.

As Vax’ildan was marched through the streets of the alienage, he saw a number of elves, and half-elves alike, watching curiously and alarmed from their homes, crowded at doorways and windows. They murmured to one another in soft whispers, near silent as the guards pushed and shoved at his back, forcing him to walk on.

And then, ahead of him, he saw her. Vex’ahlia, pressed against the trunk of the alienage’s Vhenadahl, hidden by the shadows of its twisted girth. He could tell by her posture she was poised; short bow in her grasp, hand hovering over the quiver.

He pulled his gaze from her and shook his head slowly.

There were far too many guards. He was the thief in deed, she in word. He had a better chance of getting out alone, and if she opened fire in the courtyard, it could easily turn into a massacre.

As he was escorted through the courtyard and passed the Vhenadahl, he could see her pulling back into its shadow in his peripheral. She knew – she understood, in that moment, there was no escape. But he looked enough like her to be able to pass as her for the time being – to be enough of a distraction so she could slip out.

In time, he could do the same.

He cast her one last look, hoping she could discern the promise in his eyes that he would find her, and then he was dragged out of the alienage. He did his best to ignore the churning feeling in his gut, that deep-rooted worry that came every time he had had to leave her side. This time, it was worse, deeper and gnarled within him. It wasn’t his choice – this time, he had no say in it, but he would. Soon.

The march through the city seemed to drag on forever, but Vax’ildan had committed every twist and turn of Denerim to memory long ago. He began to formulate a plan in his mind – not a very good one, but a plan at least. One night in a cell, set his dislocated shoulder by morning, rest, and then escape. One lockpick was all he needed and time to assess his guard’s schedule. Not a great plan, one that would need to be improvised, but enough for that moment. He could get out of Denerim and meet Vex’ahlia in Redcliffe in a day or two. Then he could listen to her scolding once again. He missed even that about her after so long.

It all seemed like a solid idea. At least until he recognised the area around him. How sparse the buildings were becoming, giving way to more open courts and wider roads. Then, he glanced up and saw the ever-looming tower of Fort Drakon stretching into the night sky, its shadow passing over him and swallowing him whole.

A feeling of regret mingled with dread in him. He should have tried to make a run for it in that alleyway. A bog-standard cell beneath and guard’s watchtower, that he could manage. He could do that blind and deaf if he had to.

But a fortress?

Vax’ildan could already feel the noose tightening around his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by posts by americankimchi on tumblr/twitter! Link to the posts here: http://americankimchi.tumblr.com/post/180603063126/yall-remember-those-dragon-age-au-threads-i-made
> 
> I intend to write little chapters for each character of Vox Machina, beginning with Vax! I don't know how much I'll write beyond that, or how frequently, but I'm excited to start a little project like this! :) I've not written for VM characters in CR so feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
> Tumblr/twitter: mollymaukerie.


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